Billie

Cove James Holden 💖💖 Pronouns: They/Her MARCHING BAND (music in general 😼)!!! (I'm in so many fandoms it's not even funny)

[mshoneylover]

And biggest FUCK YOU to Diana Ross for grooming Michael knowing this boy since he was what? 11????and wanna kiss on him like shit sweet she knew better. THEN a whole grown ass woman wanting to play a child in The Wiz when Stephanie mills(One of Mike's lovers) was right there and PERFECT for the roll not only did she set evb back but she took the opportunity for amazing darkskin representation in a beautiful Musical

Id run some rounds with that hoe rn

Love your daughter and hate you

[lluvrsroq]

He deserved sooo much better oh my god

"At one point when we were working on Thriller, we were up for days - all of us were just completely exhausted, man. I was bound to snap at one point.

I don't remember the exact reason, it might have been cause a harmony wasn't right or the lyrics were wrong, but Michael did something I didn't want, and I got pissed. And I mean pissed, man.

And in that moment I just got up and stormed over to Michael and just screamed at him - I don't even remember what I said but I was just yelling at his face for not doing something right. After a second I snapped out of it and I looked over at Bruce, and noticed he was looking right at Michael. I looked back at Michael... and it was weird, man, cause he was staring right at me, but he wasn't looking at me. Like he was seeing something else - his eyes were all fogged up. I stared at him for like 10 seconds, and I reached out and touched his shoulder to make sure he was okay, and he sort of snapped out of it and put his arms up, like I was gonna hit him. And it was in that exact moment that I realized exactly what I did, and why he reacted like that, and I felt sick... We took a little break after, since Michael was a little off for the next few hours. Everything was okay, Michael got over it though by morning... He's so forgiving, you know? All I could think after that was "Man, I hope this kid doesn't see me like he sees his father".

Quincy jones’ words ^^^

On production and work :: True Michael Jackson

[sequinedrhinestones]

MICHAEL JACKSON wins Favorite Soul Album for OFF THE WALL at the American Music Awards 1980 (02/∞)

[obriy]

JAAFAR JACKSON as MICHAEL JACKSON Performing 'Human Nature' during The Victory Tour

MICHAEL (2026) dir. Antoine Fuqua

[ehcovesofapollo]

Human Nature will always have a special place in my heart 🫶🏻

[miseducationofmicheal]

Michael Jackson During His "Acceptance Award" Speech,1995

[heaven-seas]

michael and this FACEEE

he said (-᷅ ε -᷄)

[michaelsmelodie]

𑣲 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼. : 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗲.

𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿 𝗲𝗿𝗮 : 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖸𝗈𝗎, 𝖧𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗌. 𝖡𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻'𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖽𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗎 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. 🪽 𝗲𝘅 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱!. 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀𝗼𝗻 × 𝗳!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. ˙𐃷˙

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌. michael's feeling extremely lonely, not romantizing it! this is just for the plot. he yearns nonstop, doesnt take a no. theyre yearning for each other. 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁 & 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳. 𝘄𝗰 𝟱.𝗸

Chicago. michael - 1983 2am.

The hotel room was very quiet after the show. That was always the worst part.

Not the rehearsals. Not the cameras shoved in his face. Not the screaming fans clawing at barricades like they could touch something precious. Michael could survive all of that. He almost liked the noise sometimes—because noise kept him from thinking. But eventually when the lights went down.

The band disappeared into elevators. Security stayed outside the door. Frank called a final goodnight, Michael from down the hallway. And then the silence came crawling back in.

Tonight it settled heavy over the room in Chicago. Michael sat on the edge of the bed still wearing the glittering blue jacket from the encore, one glove half-peeled off his hand. Sweat against his skin. His curls were damp around his face.

The stadium had held seventy thousand people. And somehow he still felt alone. His eyes drifted toward the hotel phone. He stared at it for a long time. He knew your number by heart. Still. That was the problem.

With anyone else, forgetting would’ve happened naturally. Time would've sanded the edges down. But you were stitched into too many parts of him now, latenight studio sessions, quiet drives through Encino, your laugh muffled against his shoulder when he danced stupidly around the kitchen to make you smile. God, he missed making you laugh.

Michael rubbed both hands over his face and leaned back with a tired sigh.

Don’t call.

You’d asked for space when things ended. Not cruelly. That almost made it harder. You’d stood in his kitchen months ago, eyes shiny with tears, and told him softly, “I love you, Michael. But I don’t think there’s room for me in your life anymore.”

And he hadn’t known what to say because the terrible thing was—you were right.The tour consumed him whole. Cities all together. Interviews, Flights, Costumes, Expectations. Every person around him wanted something. A performance, A signature, A photograph, A piece. By the end of the day there was nothing left to hand you except exhaustion.

Still... every night after shows his fingers hovered over the phone anyway. Because he kept imagining your voice answering sleepy and precious: "Michael?"

Just hearing that would’ve been enough. Five minutes. That was all he wanted. Five selfish minutes. He stood up abruptly and paced toward the window looking over the city. Neon lights flickered across the glass. Somewhere below, fans still lingered outside hoping for a glimpse of him. They loved him so loudly. But you had loved him quietly. No screaming. No grabbing hands. No wanting him to be larger than life.

You loved the nervous laugh he tried to hide. The way he hummed when concentrating. The awful disguises he wore in public that fooled absolutely nobody.You loved Michael. And now he wasn’t sure anyone else did.The thought hit him so suddenly his chest tightened.

Before he could stop himself, he crossed the room and grabbed the phone. His thumb rested against the buttons.

One number.

Then another. Halfway through dialing, he froze... What if you’d moved on? What if hearing from him only reopened wounds he had caused? Michael lowered the receiver slowly against his forehead, eyes closing. “Damn,” he whispered to himself. A soft knock startled him. “Michael?” one of the security men called gently through the door. “You need anything?” He swallowed quickly, forcing his voice steady. “No. I’m alright.”

Footsteps faded again. He looked back at the unfinished number on the phone. For a long moment, he considered completing it anyway. Then, with visible reluctance, he hung up. The click echoed through the empty suite. Michael stood there in silence, staring at nothing.

Tomorrow there would be another city. Another stadium. Another deafening crowd chanting his name like it could fill the hollow ache inside him. But tonight, all he could think about was you. And how badly he wished the phone had rung first.

Three nights later,

he almost called again. Detroit this time.The show had gone longer than expected because the crowd wouldn’t let him leave the stage. They screamed for encores until his ears rang. Security practically dragged him backstage while fans cried hard enough to make him feel guilty for walking away.

Everyone kept telling him how lucky he was.

Most famous man in the world.

Biggest tour alive.

Living the dream.

Michael thought the dream felt exhausting. By the time he reached the hotel, it was nearly two in the morning. His body ached. His throat burned from singing. He peeled the tape from his fingers slowly while sitting at the small desk near the window. And there it was again. That awful feeling.The loneliness always hit hardest after midnight. He reached for the phone automatically this time..

no hesitation.

He dialed almost the entire number before panic crawled up his spine. What if someone else answered? The thought made him physically sick.

Michael hung up so fast the receiver slammed crooked against the base. “Shit,” he muttered, breathing hard. He stood up and started pacing. He hated that you still had this effect on him. Hated that every city reminded him of something connected to you.

A record store in Toronto that sold your favorite vinyls. A perfume in Paris that smelled like your sweaters. A girl in the front row tonight with your exact laugh. He couldn’t escape you. Not that he really wanted to. That was the pathetic part.

The room suddenly felt too small. Michael grabbed his jacket and sunglasses and slipped out through the suite door before security could stop him. “Mike—?” one bodyguard began. “I just need air.” The streets were mostly empty at this hour. Cool wind curled through his damp curls as he walked fast with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

For once nobody recognized him. Just Michael. And unfortunately, Michael was heartbroken. He stopped outside a closed little diner glowing faintly under a streetlamp. The sight pulled a memory from him so sharply it hurt.You, sitting across from him at three a.m. months ago, stealing food from his plate while laughing at how terrible his disguise was.

“You know people can still tell it’s you, right?”

“No they can’t,” he’d argued. “Michael, you’re wearing sequined loafers.” He actually smiled remembering it.

Then the smile disappeared just as quickly.

shit.

He missed you so much. Before he could think better of it, he ducked into a phone booth near the corner.His hands trembled dialing.

One ring. His stomach flipped violently.

Two rings.

He almost hung up.

Three—

“Hello?” Your voice.. very sleepy. Michael forgot how to breathe. For a second neither of you spoke.

Then quietly: “…Michael?” The way you said his name nearly destroyed him.He leaned against the glass wall of the booth, eyes shut tight. “Hi.” Silence again.. very..heavy silence.

“I didn’t think you’d call,” you admitted softly. “I didn’t think I would either.” A tiny exhale—almost a laugh—came through the line. And suddenly he was back there with you somehow. In your apartment. Feet tangled together on the couch. Your head against his chest while old records played softly in the background.

Michael gripped the receiver tighter. “How are you?” he asked. It came out painfully sincere. “I’m okay,” you said after a moment. “You?” He looked out at the empty street, neon reflecting across wet pavement.

How could he explain this feeling?

The screaming crowds, The loneliness afterward. The way success felt strangely cold without the one person he wanted to share it with? Instead he whispered: “I miss you.” The line went completely still. Then he heard your breathing hitch quietly.

And Michael realized, with sudden terrifying hope—maybe you missed him too.The silence on the line stretched longer this time. Not empty, just full of everything neither of you were saying.

Michael stayed pressed against the glass of the phone booth, his reflection faint and fractured in the pane. Neon light flickered across his face in soft blues and reds, like the city couldn’t decide what version of him he was tonight. “Michael…” your voice finally came, quieter than before. He closed his eyes at the sound of it. “Yeah.”

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” you admitted. That landed heavily. He nodded even though you couldn’t see him. “I know..” A car passed slowly outside, headlights washing over the booth, then disappearing again. The world kept moving like nothing important was happening in a phone booth at three in the morning. But everything important was happening right here. You exhaled shakily. “Tour’s still going?”

“Yeah.” Then, softer: “You sound tired.” He almost laughed at that, not because it was funny, but because it was the first honest thing anyone had said to him in days.“I am,” he admitted. Then, after a beat, “It’s worse after shows.” You didn’t ask why. You already knew. The post show silence. The hotel rooms.

The echo of thousands of voices that vanished too quickly, leaving nothing but the ringing in his ears and thoughts he couldn’t outrun.“I keep thinking I’ll get used to it,” he said quietly. “But I don’t.” There was a soft rustle on your end, like you had shifted in bed. “I didn’t think you’d actually call,” you repeated, more fragile this time.“I didn’t think I’d get through the number,” he admitted honestly.

That made you breathe out something that sounded almost like a laugh again, but it cracked halfway.“You remembered it,” you said. Michael looked down at his hand gripping the receiver. “I never forgot it.” Another silence.

But this one felt different. More like a door left slightly open. “You shouldn’t be alone in a phone booth at three a.m.,” you said gently. “I’ve been alone in worse places,” he answered before he could stop himself. And immediately regretted how honest that sounded. Because it was true. But it also wasn’t the kind of truth you were supposed to hand to someone you still loved. There was a long pause on your end.

Then: “Michael... are you okay?” That question nearly broke him. Because no one asked it like that anymore, Not really. Not when it mattered. He swallowed hard. “I think I just...” He hesitated, fingers tightening around the receiver. “I think I just needed to hear your voice.” A soft inhale from you. Like you were trying not to fall apart too loudly. “Me too,” you admitted. And that did it. Something in his chest loosened and cracked all at once.

For a moment, neither of you spoke again. There was no performance here, no crowd, no expectations. Just two people suspended in the middle of everything that had changed and everything that hadn’t. Finally, you whispered, “I still think about you too.” Michael shut his eyes. “Every night?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

You paused, Then: “Yeah.” The street outside felt colder suddenly. He leaned his forehead against the glass. “I didn’t want it to end like that,” he said. “I know.” You sighed. “I didn’t know how to keep both lives,” he admitted. “The tour… and us. I tried, but—”

“I know,” you repeated, softer. And somehow that hurt more than anger would’ve. Because you did know.That was the problem.A distant siren wailed somewhere in the city. Life continuing, indifferent.Michael lowered his voice. “Are you.. okay? Without me?” It was a selfish question. He knew it even as he asked it. There was a long pause.

Then you said honestly, “I’m learning how to be.” That should’ve relieved him.Instead it tightened something in his chest.Because it meant you were moving forward. Even if part of you hadn’t left him behind yet. Michael nodded slowly, even though you couldn’t see it.“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.” Another pause.

He could feel the moment shifting—like standing on the edge of something that could either become healing… or reopen everything. “You should probably get some sleep,” you said softly.“I will.” But neither of you hung up. Not yet.. Because there was still something fragile holding the call together. Finally, he spoke again, voice low: “Can I call you after the next show?”

the silence was longer this time. Then you said, carefully, “Michael... i don’t know what that means.” He nodded slowly, even though you still couldn’t see him.“Neither do I,” he admitted. And that was the most honest thing either of you had said all night.

Meanwhile Outside, the city kept moving. Inside the phone booth, Michael stayed still—holding onto your voice like it was the only thing keeping him from disappearing into the noise again.

© 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚

[devochkanextdoor]

me in the michael jackson x reader tag on the bus at the ripe hours of dawn cus I never gaf

[moonshadowsx]

how it feels going under the michael jackson tag on tumblr after the biopic

[inbred-eater]

mature era = vampire!michael

[ehcovesofapollo]

MEOW

[donyalelunaaslore]

I just love Michael Jackson sm

[moonwalkingforever]

MICHAEL JACKSON in Moonwalker (1988)

[aotybad]

listening to michael jackson, studying his career, watching his performances and actually paying close attention to his artistry means becoming eternally selective and rigid with current artists because they literally don’t make music and performances like him anymore and there will never be another like HIM

[aceofheartsssss]

A concept…

I was doomscrolling as a loser does and I stumbled upon a very interesting TikTok section that unleashed a part of me and an idea I really like… Vampire!Michael Jackson, so have a quick blurb or whatever the fuck they’re called:

Think about it. He got bitten by a mystery vampire at some point during the Thriller era. It messed with his skin slowly throughout the years in ways he can’t control or explain. He needed to figure it all out in his own and it was terrifying.

The tabloids were wrong about everything they ever said, they’d never know the truth. But they were right about one thing, he DID sleep in a chamber, but it acted more like a coffin to protect his strange skin and body.

He met you one way or another…. and you found out what he is. He gets scared. What if you use or abuse him like the others? Hurt him, lie about him, expose him? But you’re not like that, you swear. And for once, he feels like someone out there actually cares. It makes him feel soft, like never before, he clings to you, he falls for you… and you fall too.

Ghosts short film was a subtle way of referencing to the public that he’s a vampire. The sunglasses, hats, masks, and umbrellas he used were a fashion choice, yes, but they were also to protect him from the sun. He’s very, very sensitive.

He craves blood. You just might let him take some of yours sometimes… You suggest animal blood but he says he could never hurt an animal himself, he just CAN’T. He had been taking some energy from the fans every single show (an unsatisfying alternative to blood), just enough to keep himself alive, just enough to only have the fans faint, nothing more.

You grimly suggest killing people who hurt others, more specifically children, and that idea sounds more than appealing to him, because he cares a lot about poor, innocent children. Cleansing the world of pedophiles while feeding on blood as well…?

Sounds like blood is on the dance floor.

[gb-patch]

Craving Cove? Look no further.

Announcing: Our next line of official Our Life merch! 🐳

We'll be selling ORCA-brand t-shirts and socks via Makeship, starting June 1st! Like the Cove hoodie, these will be a limited-time purchase, so mark your calendars.

Check them out ahead of time here: 👕 ORCA T-Shirt

🧦 ORCA Socks

[gb-patch]

It's the B-man's B-day! 🎂

Today, we celebrate the one and only Baxter Ward. He's classy, witty, and, of course, impeccably well-dressed.

Let's share a hypothetical black and white cookie and ask…

What did you think of Baxter when you first met him? 🖤 🤍

[gb-patch]

THE RESULTS ARE IN! 🏆

Presenting: The winners of the GB Patch Valentine's Day Awards ♥️

Thanks to the 2,636 voters who decided which superlative the Our Life love interests will receive. You love them, we love you – It's a never-ending cycle of love!

And now, without further ado... Your winners!